What We Don't See
by Moretta
Summary: When Gregory Goyle finally breaks down after years of being tormented, only his best friend Vincent Crabbe is around. A Vince/Greg story, because in the books we only see the side of them that Harry sees.


A/N: For DerangedxandxSarcastic, because I think she needs cheering up.  
This is pretty old, I dug it up recently and thought it was ok.  
Tell me if I was right or wrong.

In Gregory Goyle's POV.

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What We Don't See

It used to hurt when people called him dumb. Stupid. Ugly. Scum. Slimy. Death Eater. Crony. Revolting. Oaf. Over and over again.

It was true, he struggled with schoolwork, his marks weren't very good, he was a Slytherin, he stuck to Draco and he enjoyed his food, but it seemed unfair that he should be punished for it.

One day, that one fateful time, after an especially bad week, he'd broken down.

He was fifteen, and he hadn't cried in years, but that didn't seem to matter as the tears poured down his face and he ranted and shouted and let his feelings out after almost five years of feeling alone.

It had been just him and his best friend in the dormitory, and once he'd calmed down a bit, Vince had hugged him tight and told him he wasn't stupid. Everyone had his or her own talents and just because his weren't academic, that didn't mean he was "dumb".

He had looked down and mumbled something to the effect of it being true.

Vince had frowned, shaking him by the shoulder. It _wasn't_ true, he said.  
He was an amazing person, they just didn't bother getting to know him.

He had shrugged, wiping away tear tracks with the back of his hand and apologising for acting so pathetic.

Vince had frowned again, telling him he wasn't acting pathetic. Just human.

Vince wasn't stupid like he was.

He just pretended to be so people left him alone. Vince knew all those big words Draco used, and he knew what they meant too.

He would teach a few of the younger students from time to time as well. He had asked Vince for help before, and his best friend had been more than willing to help every time, almost every day.

Vince had then asked, almost pleadingly, why he hadn't shared this before. In first and second year he'd felt so alone because of the comments… if only he'd known, they would have coped together.

They always coped, together.

He had just shrugged and looked down, feeling rather awkward.

Vince had hugged him again and started listing off his good points: loyal, funny, kind, caring, artistic, sensitive, cunning…

The list seemed to never end and he was getting more embarrassed with each passing remark.

Without really thinking, he'd leant forward, but so had Vince, and by some improbable twist of fate, their lips had ended up touching.

They'd both leapt back as though having received an electric shock.

They were a silent for a moment before Vince had started babbling apologies and half-sentences, useless, inane chatter.

So once again, without really thinking, he'd leant forward, but even without thought the action had a purpose.

The purpose being to shut. Vince. Up.

He didn't know who'd been the bolder of the two, but somehow the kiss had deepened.

Now, years on, he could safely say that this particular memory was one of his favourites, something he would remember with the fondness that comes with age.

Even that first day they'd had to hide the spark that had lit between them.

Nott had walked in on them and they'd leapt apart, not that the other had noticed, preoccupied as he was with his girlfriend's behaviour.

Over the next few weeks they had decided to see how things went, and things were still going _very_ well.

It still sort of stings when people insult him, but now he only has to glance at Vince standing protectively next to him to know he isn't stupid or ugly.

He can sketch anything from memory, sit down at a piano and play, conjure fire and water in a flash, always find a fresh pair of socks, cook a meal without the help of a House Elf, but most of all, he can always go to Vince.

And Vince can always go to him.

_  
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,  
therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._

- William Shakespeare


End file.
